


Illusion

by wednesday



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fenris in Dragon Age: Inquisition, Hug or Die, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-10-28 15:30:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17789990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wednesday/pseuds/wednesday
Summary: Dorian and Fenris in the hot springs in Emprise du Lion.





	Illusion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shadow_lover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadow_lover/gifts).



“Pavus,” a deep, gravelly voice disturbs Dorian’s perfectly nice evening. “I should have known I’d find you here.” Dorian doesn’t bother opening his eyes and keeps enjoying the hot water. He’s been trudging all over this frozen mountain so long that he’d happily murder anyone who tried to get him away from this place.

“Fenris, how pleasant to see you. In a manner of speaking.” It’s not a lie - Dorian finds Fenris rather pleasant to look at. He’s never felt fearless enough to say it to the man, of course; he can imagine easily how Fenris would take it. Thankfully Fenris also takes anything Dorian says as some manner of mockery. “Have you been looking for me?”

Hmm, tracked down at the hot springs by a handsome man with a husky voice. Dorian isn’t sure he’d like to be tracked down by this particular man, though, considering the first time they met, Fenris tried to rip his chest open. _After_ being warned by Varric about him, like Dorian is something people should be warned about. To say Fenris doesn’t like him would be a gross understatement.

“No,” Fenris says in a voice so disgusted Cassandra could take lessons. “But it doesn’t surprise me you’ve decided to go back to the familiar. Are you missing Tevinter yet?” By the position of his voice and the faint sounds Dorian can make out, Fenris has decided to join him in the water. Ah, if only this were one of Varric’s books.

“Naturally. Good hygiene is, after all, one of the great evils of Tevinter, right up there with blood magic and the blights. That’s why everyone in the South avoids it so diligently.”

Fenris doesn’t answer, so Dorian decides to count it as a point in his favor. With eyes still closed he listens as Fenris gets into the pool of blessedly hot water. Literally, if Lavellan is to be believed.

Several minutes later, when Dorian has just gotten to the nice part of a lovely fantasy about the Orlesian knight that has just joined the Inquisition, he feels the water ripple. When he finally opens his eyes, he sees Fenris has joined him in the stone alcove shaded by those bland white flower vines that grow everywhere in Orlais.

Unfortunately, he looks better than Dorian’s imaginary knight. It the interest of staying alive, Dorian makes an effort to stop his eyes from straying anywhere below the neck.

“You shouldn’t have come here alone.”

“And you haven’t even brought me wine. Here I thought you knew how threats are made by civilized people.” Dorian smiles dangerously. He might not be Fenris’ favorite person in the world, but he’s spent half his life practicing being the most dangerous person in a room, or making everyone think he is.

“I’m not threatening you,” Fenris says. He’s looking uncommonly uncomfortable, if Dorian’s reading his expression right. “You should have taken scouts with you.”

“Are you concerned for my safety?” Dorian asks probably sounding only half as disbelieving as he feels. Fenris has never let Dorian unprotected during a fight, yes, but according to Varric he’s been known to do the same for an actual blood-mage. This is at any rate not a fight, just a bathing trip.

Fenris makes a wordless sound of displeasure. It sounds very much like a growl. “I am tasked with being concerned for everyone’s safety.”

“Out of everyone, you must have the best idea what a Tevinter mage is capable of. I can take care of myself.” Fenris has seen him in battle, so there’s no point in denying he downplays his abilities in public to make people feel safer.

“We are in a place overrun with red Templars. Your magic will matter very little after a smite.”

Dorian isn’t sure how to argue the point, but he’s saved from trying by a loud rumbling sound somewhere above them. It only seems to get louder, and they both see the snow twirl in a great circle on the far side of the pond.

“Is that--?”

“Evidently,” Dorian says as a giant blue dragon lands before their eyes.

“So the dragon we killed two days ago wasn’t the only one here,” Fenris says. They watch the dragon stomp about and sniff at the air. “My sword is on that side of the pool.”

“So is my staff,” Dorian says through gritted teeth and rises his hands to better focus the spell. He’s more than thankful he decided to leave his rings on when bathing this time.

“What are you doing?” Fenris hisses. “Dragons can sense magic!”

“They can also see and hear better than people think.” Just then the dragon turns it’s head in their direction and they get a good view of its slit pupils.

“It looked right at us,” Fenris says after the dragon turns away.

“I’m casting an area illusion. This whole place is saturated with magic from the rift the Inquisitor closed here. It shouldn’t be able to feel my spell.”

“I could get my sword--”

“No. I can’t extend it that far. The smaller the area, the easier it is to hold.” The dragon settles down, apparently deciding this is a wonderful place to take a nap. “A sword would do us no good right now, anyway.”

“We’ll have to wait for the others to come kill it,” Fenris says, his voice much closer than before. Considerate, but ultimately futile. Dorian’s not going to say it, not yet. “The camp is right down the hill, they must have noticed the dragon.”

“Yes, that seems like the best plan.”

“What aren’t you telling me?” Fenris asks, for once inconveniently observant.

“Like I said, I don’t have my staff. Even with it, I can only hold the illusion for so long.” They both look at the blue monster currently laying down with its head turned right at their hiding place. The silence stretches.

“If you need mana,” Fenris says carefully, “my markings...”

Dorian grimaces. It would probably work, and he would probably prefer being eaten by a dragon rather than having anything in common with whoever made them. “No. If it comes to that, I can draw some from whoever the bones at the entrance belong to.” Unpleasant, but it might give them more time. And people say necromancy isn’t useful. “Or what remains of the rift, possibly.”

Fenris falls silent. After a minute of silence, when he’s sure he has a good grip of the spell for now, Dorian looks at him. Fenris is much closer than Dorian expected, and watching Dorian with a conflicted expression. Dorian rises his eyebrow in question.

Fenris moves through the water and into Dorian’s arms before Dorian can protest. It takes Dorian a moment to realize Fenris is awkwardly hugging him.

“Are you, ah, okay? I only ask because, well. I’m sure you can guess.”

Fenris makes another sound of distaste, this one an almost perfect copy of Cassandra’s. “Draw the mana and keep up the spell, mage,” he says and his lyrium markings flare.

Dorian can feel their pull where their skin touches. It feels like letting a lightning spell crawl over his own arms. Dorian is tempted to let himself float into the echoes of Fade that Fenris has called forth. Instead he carefully takes only as much as the illusion requires to maintain. It still feels like light being poured into him, but he focuses on the warm water and the cool air, and stays in control.

The wait is harrowing, made only harder by having Fenris in his lap. Fenris doesn’t seem inclined to speak, and for once Dorian has nothing to say. A few minutes later Fenris shifts, to get feeling back into his legs, probably, and then stills.

“In my defense, you did climb into my lap.”

Fenris leans back enough to growl into Dorian’s face, which absolutely doesn’t help the situation. Fenris, of course, notices that, too. “Really? _This_?”

“I’m not _dead_ ,” Dorian says, affronted. “Absolutely anyone would find that growl arousing.” Fenris looks at him, expression somewhere between unimpressed and incredulous.

Dorian focuses on the illusion and consoles himself with the knowledge that Fenris probably doesn’t want to die by dragon more than he wants to murder Dorian. Honestly, he can’t believe he hasn’t come up with a scale of Fenris’ murderousness yet. He’ll have to ask Varric if one already exists.

Fenris growls again and kisses Dorian. The shock doesn’t stop Dorian for long - he kisses back, and lets Fenris deepen the kiss. It’s probably a hallucination caused by his mana getting too low, but he’s not complaining. The kiss gets faster and more thorough until Dorian can feel his blood speed up, and then slowly winds down until they’re just breathing the same air, foreheads touching.

“You’re lucky I’m good at keeping up spells while distracted,” Dorian says.

Fenris splashes water in Dorian’s face, which - rude. “We’re not talking about this.”

“Talking about what?”

“Exactly,” Fenris says with finality, and they sit, once again, in silence.

Thankfully they don’t have to wait much longer. The Inquisitor arrives with a party of a dozen people, which in Dorian’s experience, is thrice as many people as one needs to kill a dragon. While the others take care of the dragon, Dorian and Fenris finally get to retrieve their clothes and get presentable.

“Did you have to? The dragon was starting to grow on me,” Dorian says to the Inquisitor, and is rewarded by an exceptionally startled expression.

“Dorian? What--” Lavellan looks at Fenris and continues, “Were you both up here the whole time?”

“Indeed,” Fenris says and walks past them in the direction of the camp. Dorian shrugs and walks close enough to inspect the dragon better.

Bull and a few of the scouts reenact the fight loudly all the way down. Dorian has to avoid the giant dawnstone monstrosity that Bull calls an axe several times, while Lavellan laughs at them all.

“I think I shall retire, I’ve had enough excitement for one night,” Dorian tells the Inquisitor, when they get to camp and it becomes clear the fight is going to be reenacted again, immediately.

“Of course, Dorian. We put your things in the tent next to mine while you were gone.” Dorian sees Bull prepare to swing his axe again, and quickly takes his leave.

He doesn’t think to ask who he’ll be sharing with until he gets inside the tent and comes face to face with Fenris.

 

 

          

     


End file.
